She Tries, She Pretends
by Caroline
Summary: [WilsonCameron] She tries not to notice him, pretends he doesn't affect her the way that he does.


TITLE: She Tries, She Pretends  
PAIRING: Wilson/Cameron, very slight House/Cuddy

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She tries not to notice him. It's better to focus on her cases, focus on House, focus on how annoying it is that he doesn't give a damn about her anymore... that he's too busy staring down Cuddy's shirt to so much as glance her way. She tries not to sense him in the background of their brainstorming sessions, tries not to let her mind's eye paint a picture of the way he's leaning against the glass behind her, sleeves rolled up adorably and hands shoved in his pockets, tie loosened and hair just a little mussed with stress. She tries not to straighten her spine when she feels him straighten up behind her, and she pretends she can't hear him loud and clear, taking a breath.

She pretends she doesn't like his eyes. They're brown, and she's used to drowning herself in blue. Or faded blue-green. She pretends that brown eyes aren't for her. Nor are boyish smiles. No, she tries to still find the attraction in sour, puckered expressions and self-satisfied smirks. She pretends the butterflies and headiness his smile gives her is residual stress from a pressing case. She tries not to notice the crinkles around his eyes when he gives her that smile.

She pretends she can't feel him over her shoulder when she's reading, or looking at x-rays or monitors, pretends she can't sense him as well as she can. And she tries to ignore the jump of her heart when he gets close enough she can feel his body heat. She pretends the pinking of her cheeks is leftover annoyance from something House has said. And she tries to ignore that the little, seemingly-insignificant things he says to her actually succeed in making her feel better.

She tries not to notice how he's always _right there_ when she's close to the edge, whether it be frustration or depression, he's always right there. She pretends not to need that from him; she's an independent woman (now) and doesn't want to depend on anybody. She tries to ignore the pull between them when they're talking about their failed marriages. She pretends that look in his eyes as they lock in a stare is just sadness over another failed marriage and not something... _else_.

She pretends, at night, that she always walks this slow, so it's just a coincidence when he falls into step beside her. She tries to ignore the intoxicated feeling she gets when their shoulders bump accidentally. She pretends not to see him sneaking glances at her every few seconds. And she tries not to glance back, for fear of seeing that boyish smile. She pretends to have things to talk about when they stop at their cars, which are very coincidentally parked next to each other. She tries to brush away the desire for him to ask her for a drink.

She tries not to pay attention to how nervous he seems as he fiddles with his keys, looks down at them, puts them in his pocket, and takes them out to fiddle with them again. She pretends the smile on her face isn't because of him; isn't because he's too cute for his own good sometimes. She tries to resist him when he suggests they go get some coffee. And at the coffee shop when they fall into step together once again, she pretends she doesn't like the feel of his hand on the small of her back, guiding her inside.

She pretends she's a slow coffee-drinker, though he knows her much better than that. Much better than she'd like, come to think of it. And she tries to ignore the fact that their knees are touching under the table. She pretends the butterflies in her stomach are from something else. She tries not to hear the bitterness in his tone as he casually mentions how his latest wife has left him. She pretends that reaching out to touch his hand is purely a gesture of friendship and support.

When they leave the coffee shop and they're still hand-in-hand, she tries not to focus too much on it. She pretends she doesn't even notice. He smiles at her and thanks her for coming with him, for listening to him, and she tries to tell him that they're friends. She pretends not to see the glint in his eyes as they're once again stopped in front of the cars. She tries not to count the seconds that they stare at each other wondering what the hell to do. And when he finally gives a shy smile and says goodnight, she pretends not to be disappointed... and turns to head for her car.

For a second when he calls her name (her first name, _God_ it sounds so lovely suddenly), she pretends not to hear him. She spins to face him, standing just yards away, and tries to communicate with her eyes that they can't be anything. Not now, not ever. She pretends he can't read her well enough to know she's lying. She tries not to gasp when she sees him start to walk toward her, eyes never leaving hers. She pretends her keys are suddenly fascinating as she unlocks her door.

She tries to brush off what's happening as he gets closer, tries to talk some sense into him (and her). "Listen, James..."

When he leans down and gently captures her lips, sliding his arms around her waist, she pretends she doesn't love the feeling. She tries to tell her hands not to rest on his chest, not to touch his face and pull him closer. She pretends that kissing him _isn't_ everything she'd thought it would be. And she tries to ignore how tenderly he holds her against him, how sweetly he kisses her.

They pull apart after what feels like forever and she tries not to be stunned speechless by the look in his eyes now. She pretends she can't read him as well as she can, and just searches his eyes a little more. He's looking at her expectantly, searching her like she's searching him, and she tries to think of words. Any words at all. She pretends not to feel like an idiot when not one single thought reaches her brain. She tries to ignore the boyish smile he's giving her now, pretends the smile tugging at her own lips isn't because of him.

And as his arms twine around her and his lips touch hers again, she pretends to be surprised by how right this feels.

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FIN

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AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is my first time writing Wilson/Cameron; I normally wait until I know each of the characters REALLY well, but I couldn't help it. Their fluffy cuteness speared my heart and I was inspired. Hope it wasn't _too_ terribly OOC. Oh, also? Cookies and candy-coated Wilsons go to whoever can find the "Office" reference I tossed in ;) 


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